


here's the scene

by brilligspoons



Series: up through the dirt [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, F/F, Future Fic, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/pseuds/brilligspoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Not that Lydia would ever admit it out loud, but it takes her almost a full year to realize that Allison hasn't gone back to Beacon Hills yet.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	here's the scene

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkjunket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkjunket/gifts).



Not that Lydia would ever admit it out loud, but it takes her almost a full year to realize that Allison hasn't gone back to Beacon Hills yet. She's not entirely sure how it happened, either. The original plan was for the two of them to drive across the country, get Lydia settled in her new apartment, and after a few weeks of hanging out, Allison was supposed to catch a flight back home. Lydia supposes she should've noticed when several boxes full of Allison's clothes and various knickknacks arrived on their doorstep about a month after their arrival, but by then she'd been too embroiled in new classes and homework and a part-time job.

What tips her off in the end is Allison complaining about her back.

"Seriously," she says at brunch one Saturday morning in the spring, "I feel like an eighty year old. We have got to invest in a better couch before my spine stages a revolution."

_Oh_. Of course Allison's been sleeping on the couch for the last eight months. They live in a one-bedroom basement apartment off Comm Ave; there's no space for an extra bed, not with all of Allison's clothes and - oh. Lydia feels like smacking herself in the face. She tries to mask her surprise with a mouthful of french toast and banana slices.

"You never said anything," she says finally. She dabs at the corners of her mouth with a napkin and tries not to look directly at Allison, who shakes her head and smiles.

"We probably just need to put some foam pieces under the cushions, give it some extra support," Allison says. "Nothing to worry about. It's only recently that it's started bothering me."

Lydia sips at her coffee. There are several routes she could take at this point, some of which she knows will end poorly. She appreciates Allison staying, really she does. Getting through her remorse for allowing Peter to die the way she did would have been nigh on impossible without someone there who understood everything. But that's long past her at this point. She's adapted to Boston life, made it her own city, and she's made great friends at school and at work, so it's not like she wouldn't have a social life if she were to suddenly find herself alone. The thing is...

_The thing is,_ she finds herself thinking, _I don't want her to leave. Ever._

Lydia inhales her coffee too quickly and chokes on it. She starts spluttering and coughing, and Allison shoots up from her seat and grabs Lydia's arms, raising them up until her hands are over her head.

"Jesus," Allison says. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Lydia grunts out, "I'm fine. Just...went down the wrong way. Holy shit." She takes a few deep breaths, hoping that as she regains the use of her lungs her chest will stop feeling quite so tight. It doesn't work. _Right. That's...that, I suppose._ "Our lease is up in a few months."

"Your point?" Allison asks.

"We should start looking for a new place," continues Lydia. "Maybe somewhere with two bedrooms. Then we wouldn't have to buy a new couch."

Allison doesn't say anything at first. Lydia gets through another bite of french toast and tries to focus on the hum of conversation around them rather than the pounding of her own heart.

"Sounds good," says Allison. Her tone is overtly cautious. "That doesn't really solve the immediate problem, though."

Lydia shrugs. "My bed's big enough for two. You can sleep with me." It's only years of social conditioning that prevent her from slapping a hand over her mouth.

"Really."

She nods. There's a couple a few tables down from them having an argument over the type of dog they're going to adopt later. Lydia not so idly wonders if Allison would mind if her mother brought Prada to stay with them the next time she visits, or if maybe she'd prefer to get a cat instead.

"Alright," says Allison. "Since you're offering."

Lydia smiles at her and scoops up the last bite of french toast from her plate. There's a bit of panic creeping up into her stomach, but, strangely, it feels almost...pleasant.

_It's probably nothing,_ she thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta reader for looking this (and the others stories) over! The titles for all three of these stories (and the series) are taken from Dar Williams' song "Spring Street."


End file.
